


The Little White Church in the Dell

by SonjaJade



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8742172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonjaJade/pseuds/SonjaJade
Summary: Dr. Marcoh takes the teachings of one religion and compares them to the teachings of another, only to find they’re both right- now if he could only learn those two lessons himself…





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suzume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzume/gifts).



> Edna Crabtree looks and sounds just like Winnie McGoogan from Mrs. Brown’s Boys on the BBC. Google for the experience of this OC!

There was a small chapel not far from where Tim Marcoh lived.  It was little more than a white clapboard house with a little bell tower, beautiful handmade stained glass windows, and a darling little garden that guarded a fenced in cemetery, not much larger than the footprint of the chapel itself.  While Tim had often used it as a landmark in his new surroundings, he’d never ventured inside, but that was all about to change.  
  
He’d just returned from Ishval.  Going there was never easy, but it was a necessary duty.  He went to serve as healer and physician to the same race of people he helped to annihilate, to do everything he could to cancel out the sins he’s committed, knowing that no number of good deeds would ever truly erase those dark stains from his soul.  
  
Still, he took great joy in caring for Ishvala’s sick and elderly, to ease those in pain, to cure those who were ailing.  It was his final quest in this world- to spend the rest of his days giving his life back to the people of Ishval.  He thought nothing of his time and talent being given freely to them.  They deserved much more than just his time and talent, if you asked him.  
  
The day he left, a little white headed girl approached him, and he smiled as he offered her a desert treat.  She gave him a gapped-tooth smile in return, then asked, “Dr. Marcoh?  What happened to your face?”  
  
His smile never waned.  “An Ishvalan punished me for my part in the war.”  
  
Her gaze became puzzled.  “Why don’t you fix it back?”  
  
“Because I deserved his anger, child.  It is right that I wear my wounds this way, to remind others that we’re not put on this earth to hurt each other, no matter the reason.”  
  
She frowned.  “My _omee_ says that two wrongs don’t make a right, Dr. Marcoh.  She also said war is when two people get in a really big argument and they used everyone else to fight for them.  It was the Führer’s fault, not yours.”  
  
At the time, he’d been afraid to even think he’d been forgiven by the most innocent of babes he knew.  “That’s true, but I’m sure your _omee_ couldn’t forgive me if something I’d done had taken her mother or father away from her forever.”  
  
“Ishvala forgives all who make an effort to be good,” the child said happily.  “Even when you make big mistakes, if you really try with all your heart, Ishvala will forgive you.  That’s what _omee_ says.”  
  
Just then, the girl’s mother appeared and she gave him a tender smile. “That is indeed what I said, Sharifa.  When we put our soul into doing good for others and do our best to fix or change the poor outcomes of our actions, Ishvala forgives us completely.”  She reached out for Tim’s shoulder and squeezed him there.  “It is more difficult to forgive oneself than to be forgiven by others.  You are doing good work here, Dr. Marcoh.  Take some time to recognized what all you’ve done for us and how thankful we are for your presence here.”  
  
That had been about a week ago.  He’d been sent home to rest and sleep for about five days now that the new year had finally arrived, and as the small white chapel came into view, he decided to stop inside and reflect on the kind words of both mother and child.  
  
The inside was quiet, as he expected.  A single old woman was silently oiling and polishing the old wooden pews, and she looked up at him when he opened the door.  She smiled at him and went back to her work.  Tim walked over to the left side of the sanctuary, lighting one of the votive candles there before making the sign of the Holy Salutation over his chest.  He bowed his head a moment in reverence, and the woman left with her polishing rags.  Now alone, he went up to the front row and slid into the pew.  
  
There was an image of the Staff of God emblazoned in a stained glass window, the holy crook used by the supernatural being to shepherd the people through the Garden of Life.  On either side of the staff were crying lions surrounded by lambs, all living peacefully with each other as demons were destroyed by the rays of light coming from the head of the crook.  Below the image was written in golden glass script- “The sinner shall be loved when it seems he is least deserving, for it is then he shall need love the most.”  
  
He read and reread the line over and over again, thinking of the words kind mother had spoken to him a few weeks ago in the desert.  He reminded himself of the screams as he created one philosopher’s stone after another, as life after life perished from the science he learned from his grandfather, something he’d originally learned to pass the time and make toys with.  
  
He put his face in his hands and wept.  He couldn’t forget what he’d done, never.  How could he live with a carefree heart in a rebuilt Ishval, knowing that he’d personally saw to the execution of so many of its citizens?  
  
He was trying to be quiet about it, but his sobs echoed off the well-cared for walls and floor, and no matter how many times he wiped his eyes, they just wouldn’t stop their crying.  But then there was the soft shuffle of fabric and two arms wrapped around his shoulders.  Tim wasn’t sure who it was who came to comfort him, but he returned the embrace and gave in to the warmth that had been given to him, to the strength in the arms encircling him.  
  
He and whoever was holding him stayed locked together like that for a long while, long enough for him to settle down and at last get his tears under control.  When he let go, he looked up to find the cleaning woman smiling down at him.  
  
“I have a feeling that had been comin’ for a long time, soldier,” she said quietly, brushing his hair back from his face with her lemon scented fingertips.  
  
Tim nodded.  “Yes, eons it seems.”  
  
She looked toward the window.  “You know, that applies to _everyone_ , no matter the sin, whether it lasted a minute or decades.  All it takes to earn forgiveness is to simply accept it.”  She sat down next to him.  “My name is Edna.  Edna Crabtree.  It’s wonderful to meet you.”  
  
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose.  “Tim Marcoh.”  
  
“You live over by the grocer’s,” she mentioned.  
  
“Yes. Haven’t been here very long.  This place is the closest I could get to Ishval, I go back and forth quite a bit.”   
  
“Lost me husband in that war.  Glad to see those people are comin’ back to their homeland, that there’s survivors to fill it with after all.”  She smiled at him.  “I don’t blame the Ishvalan who took Frank from me, he was defendin’ his own life.  And what good would it do to fill me life with the hatred of a man doing what any of us would do in his place.”  
  
Tim took a breath, about to tell her what he did and explain that no Ishvalan would have ever done what he did- but she stopped him.  
  
“It doesn’t matter what you did.  Remorse goes a long way in proving intent.  Wars make good men into murders and fill their lives with nightmares of the past.  The only thing we can do is take comfort in any act that lets us feel we’re doing somethin’ to make up for our deeds, because,” she said gazing at the window once more, “we’re already forgiven from beyond.  The forgiveness we often seek comes from within, and the willingness to let go of our guilt.”  
  
“An Ishvalan woman told her daughter that if a person honestly tries with all their heart to do good works in the name of redemption, that their god will completely forgive a person of their sins.  I have the forgiveness of one of those I had wronged in the past, and I still don’t feel I deserve it.”  
  
Edna nodded sagely.  “Tell me, love, if you knew of a person who was about to commit the same sins you’re beatin’ yourself up over now, what would you do?”  
  
Without a pause, he answered, “I’d go right away to stop them, whatever it took.”  
  
“What could you do to prevent them from even getting that far?” she asked.  
  
“I could destroy the directions, burn all the records and notes and arrays.  No one must ever do what I’ve done, ever again!”  
  
Edna smiled at him.  “See?  You wouldn’t let it happen a second time.  That is why you deserve the forgiveness you’re denyin’ yourself.  Had you decided to let people discover the way to do such a thing again, you would be just as guilty.”  She rose.  “We should talk again sometime.  In the meantime, I think you need to do some talkin’ with yourself.”  
  
She went back to the small antechamber she disappeared into earlier, and Tim was alone again.  The proverb stared back at him. He sighed.  He knew so many more people who needed to see it, to hear the words of that mother from before, from the old woman just now…  
  
“Is it really okay to move on?” he asked no one.  
  
Outside, the bell tolled in response.  He opened his pocket watch that bore the state alchemist seal on it.  It said forty two minutes past three, nowhere near time for the five o’clock chimes.  
  
Edna came out, her cleaning apron put away and her jacket on her arm.  She looked up at the ceiling, frowning.  “That old bell is batty!  Rings at weird times, it does!”  
  
Was it a sign?  Was it really alright to give in to peace after all the lives he’d taken?  And for the purpose they’d been taken for?  
  
The bell seemed to toll louder at those thoughts.  He stood and hurried to catch up to Edna.  Another proverb floated in his mind- “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”  If the bell said he was forgiven, then so he was.  No need to question word from beyond.  Accepting the word was another story though-  
  
“Ms. Crabtree, please wait!” he yelled out to her.  
  
He had a feeling she knew just the way to help him accept those divine orders.


End file.
